


doesn't it feel like I'm all alone (like a secret that nobody knows)

by justprompts



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Animagus, F/M, Full Moon, M/M, Rebirth, Reincarnation, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:01:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27986622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justprompts/pseuds/justprompts
Summary: Sirius Black had always found his elder brother strange. He was quiet - which in itself, was very strange for Blacks - controlled, so obviously there was some kind of genetic mistake that ensured he was not like their parents - and protective. Extraordinarily protective, like Sirius and their little brother Regulus were going to die any moment.Draco Abraxus Black was simplystrange.
Relationships: Andromeda Black Tonks/Ted Tonks, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley/Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Regulus Black/Bartemius Crouch Jr., Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 50
Kudos: 502





	1. graveyard of fallen stars

**Author's Note:**

> I would love to hear everybody's thoughts and versions - I might do more POV's, like Lily's and the Prewett twins, because that would be fun.
> 
> Enjoy <3

__________

Sirius Black had always found his elder brother strange. He was quiet - which in itself, was very strange for Blacks - controlled, so obviously there was some kind of genetic mistake that ensured he was not like their parents - and protective. Extraordinarily protective, like Sirius and their little brother Regulus were going to die any moment.

Draco Abraxus Black was simply _strange._

It wasn't just the big things - like the fact he had blonde hair and features unlike the normal Blacks - but the little things, the way he was always steely and tauntingly rude to their cousin Bella - who was really scary, Sirius admitted - but stuttered when he talked to Cissy and Andy, who were the sweetest people in their family.

_Not that that is saying much._

It was the way he always just knew how people around them were going to react, the way he didn't make mistakes with authority or the common mistakes of a kid. The way he secretly received owls from Salazar knows who, long before going to Hogwarts. The way he never lost control of his accidental magic, so much so, that the family thought him a _squib_ at first.

Draco had shown them better.

"Goes to show, doesn't it, _Wally?_ " Aunt Druella had said, in that simpering, patronizing voice of hers. "If things seem _too_ good to be true, they usually are." 

Walburga Black, Sirius's mother, had stared at her impassively, her shoulders tensing. It was a matter of conflict between them, that Druella had three daughters and Walburga had three sons. Three sons, three heirs - and Druella hadn't even been able to produce one. But now, one of those sons - a squib?

_Daughters_ were better than squibs.

"There's still time, Druella," Walburga finally replied, stiffly. "Draco is just eight. Magic can manifest at any age." 

Aunt Druella laughed, and it sounded like a rusty bell - Sirius had been listening at the door and he had hated it - he wondered how bad Draco felt about it. The whole discussion, of how he's a squib, the worst kind of insult, really. 

But Draco's lips were twitching in amusement, as he heard Walburga and Druella argue over the fact that the eldest son of the Black family, the Heir Apparent, the _Crown Prince_ was or was not a squib. 

"My daughters are really doing so _beautifully_ with their governess," Druella continued, sighing in apparent tiredness. "Bella has an unusual fire in her, and suitors would find that highly attractive, don't you agree? From our side, we don't need to _prune_ any branches on the family tree..." 

Sirius looked at Draco with wide eyes, whose face had gone stony, as Walburga set down her tea cup with a crack. 

"I will _not_ have you insulting my son and I in my own home, Druella," Walburga said, her eyes flashing with rage. "My son is _not_ a squib!" 

"Are you convincing me or yourself, sister?" Druella had stood up, her tone grave but her eyes laughing with amusement. 

Sirius gasped softly as Draco shook off his arm from his shoulder and walked into the room. The ladies immediately fell silent, in shock, until - 

"Auntie Druella," Draco began, in a sugary sweet voice as Sirius held his breath, scared. "Just because I haven't had any visible accounts of accidental magic, doesn't mean I don't have any, of course. Are you really disputing the merit of a _Black_ Heir?"

"Oh, talking about magic - "

"Haven't I warned you _not_ to listen at - "

Walburga and Druella began simultaneously, and Sirius peeked out, they obviously were too distracted with Draco to look at him. 

Draco was standing in the middle of the room, still smiling - like he couldn't care less - and staring unnervingly at Druella. 

"You see, _Auntie,"_ he continued, still in that same, condescending voice. "I have always been able to _control_ my magic, and I don't see the need to prove myself to the likes of _you."_

His posture and his voice, clear and commanding, made him sound more like their father than an eight year old. 

Druella laughed derisively, "Really, darling? Forgive me if I don't believe you. Children really cannot control their magic, if they _have_ any, that is." 

She aimed the last part pointedly at Walburga who was almost fuming, glaring at Druella and Draco both. 

Draco glanced between them, his eyes narrowing and Sirius watched with bated breath, as he stretched his palm outwards, facing up to Druella and whispered, _"Burn."_

His hand seemed to catch aflame, and Walburga's mouth dropped open, along with Druella's - who was staring with wide, shocked eyes - as the orange, yellow flames dancing across his palm - took the shape of a dragon, which reared and blew fire and smoke, until Draco pushed it off towards Druella. 

She screamed, as the miniature, fiery dragon leapt straight to her face, clearly leaving a dark burn mark. 

"Draco - Draco - what is - " she said, her voice high and fearful. "Take this dragon _off -_ me, _right_ this instant!"

"I'm afraid I cannot control my accidental magic," he said, calmly. "After all, I am but a mere child."

Walburga stared after him, shocked, a strange kind of pride in her eyes as she took out her wand and vanished the dragon, and Draco took Sirius by the arm and led him out, muttering something like, " _Never did like my idiotic grandmother."_

Nobody had questioned his magic after that. 

There were, however still a lot of things questionable about Draco. 

The letters he received, just kept increasing - and when Sirius asked him who he was in touch with - Draco had replied with a shrug and _"Acquaintances,"_ which made no sense because he always smiled when he read them - a _friend_ -smile - and anyway, where had he met these people? Unless Draco had made _acquaintances_ in the first two years of his life, Sirius and Draco were always together. 

But, Sirius had no way of knowing - and he wasn't a snitch, so he couldn't even ask his parents if they knew - his loyalty lay with Draco, just like Regulus's. 

Draco protected them from their mother's rage, their father's indifference - let Sirius go out into Muggle London and pet the little labrador that lived with the people in Number 11, always gave them answers about topics their parents considered law, and encouraged them to think for themselves - he helped Regulus paint the wall in his room with _Slytherin_ colours, and didn't even blink when Sirius refused with a hesitant, _"What if I'm not in Slytherin?"_

Sirius loves his elder brother.

And he wouldn't give him up for the world.

___________

Remus Lupin _knew_ he should be grateful. But all he could feel, down to his very bones, was chill. Cold fear.

Grateful, grateful, _grateful -_ he really was.

He _was_ incredibly grateful to Professor Dumbledore for letting him attend Hogwarts, for the arrangements he had made, for the friends he had made already. 

It seemed unstable, unsustainable - this friendship of theirs. Too good to last. 

It was slightly unnerving how he had made friends so easily. With no effort on his own part, really. James Potter and Sirius Black had been joint by the hip since day one, a tight duo, a friendship that Remus knew would only grow with time. 

He, on the other hand, he hadn't expected them to like him, too. But they did. Atleast, they seemed to. 

James seemed to care when he had lied about his ill mother who had to be visited on Friday - his first full moon at Hogwarts - and Sirius had given him a chocolate, with a whispered _"Eat it before you go, it'll help you feel better" -_ Peter, another one of their dorm mates, a short, thin boy with mousy hair - had hugged him comfortingly. 

James and Sirius had come to Hogwarts with full information on everything. 

Secret Passages, Kitchens, teachers - everything. It was probably because they were purebloods from well known families and of course, their respective elder brothers.

Draco Black, one of the only decent Slytherins, and Harry Potter - a Gryffindor third year. They were extraordinarily popular, and Remus, who had been there only a week, could also easily tell. 

Their group was a tight knit one, seven of them - Draco Black, Harry Potter, Hermione Evans - Lily's older sister, Ron and Ginny Prewett - younger siblings of the Prewett twins, Luna Lovegood, a slightly odd looking Ravenclaw, and another Slytherin, Blaise Zabini. They were all in third year, and Remus had heard rumours of how they could easily beat the NEWT students in duels, too. He hadn't ever personally talked to any of them, and frankly, they seemed too perfect, and too powerful, too everything, really - he would be scared _shitless_ if he had to.

Sirius and James talked about their brothers constantly, and Remus tamped down his envy - he had always been an only child. _Not that his parents needed anymore burden_ , he thought, bitterly.

" _Immobulus,"_ Madam Pomphrey said, flicking her wand at the branch of the Whomping Willow. 

_Breathe, breathe, breathe,_ he chanted as he walked with her into the Shack. He wondered how loud his howls would be - and if everybody would be able to hear them. Hopefully, everything would go fine today, maybe he could live at Hogwarts for just a month more before he had to worry about expulsion -

But _hope_ had never come so easily to a child like Remus.

Madam Pomphrey smiled pitifully at him one last time, before turning and leaving the Shack. Remus took a deep breath to calm himself, trying to become more familiar with the place, when suddenly - 

_"She's gone, isn't she?"_ an oddly calm voice of a girl, floated out of nowhere. 

Remus startled, badly, backing up into the wall behind him - his heart beating fast - he almost felt like laughing hysterically, _One Week Wonder Werewolf_ at Hogwarts, before he was discovered and executed. 

Executed. _Oh, god._

This was too real - too fast - he thought, as the people, because obviously, there were more, clearly took off their disillusionment charms, and shed off a cloak. 

_Invisibility_ cloak. Sure. Why not? 

And standing right in front of him, and his assuredly pale and scared face, was the group of the seven people that he had been thinking about earlier. 

Clearly, Fate _loved_ laughing at him. 

Hermione Evans strode forward slowly, her arms held up like she was trying to not scare him - which was tragically funny, seeing as she was the one who should be scared of the Werewolf on a full moon - as Harry Potter nudged Ginny Prewett, who had opened her mouth to say something. 

"Its alright, Remus," she said, as Remus detachedly wondered how she knew his name. "We aren't gonna hurt you. Its alright, we're here to _help."_

It takes a lot of calming down, from Luna, Hermione, and Harry, and some awkward back patting from the Prewett siblings, for him to finally speak, "How - how did you know that - that I'm a - how did you know to come _here?"_

Both the Slytherins exchange looks at the back, one of them rolling his eyes, looking bored. 

"Just some logical deducing," Hermione finally says, wincing and Remus wonders just how much he looks like a monster, normally, too. 

"Okay," Ginny says, clapping her hands together, and glancing out of the window, even as Remus feels the pull of the moon. "Point is, we know you're a Werewolf," she ignores his flinch, "And we're all trusting you with a secret, too. We're all Illegal Animagi." 

Remus gapes at her, third years and apparently _Animagi?_

She doesn't wait for his reply, instead continues, "So, we can keep you company during your transformation, and make sure you don't hurt anyone or yourself." 

_Yourself?_ Remus finds that idea foreign, as if anyone cares whether a werewolf can harm himself. But the five in front of him, nod firmly. 

"I can't believe we're really spending our _Friday_ night like this," Blaise grumbles from the back, as Remus flushes and ducks his head, it's not like he _asked_ for their help, and Hermione glares at the Slytherin sternly. 

"No, seriously, Potter," Draco says too, standing his ground when they all turn to him. "If you just told me a week earlier, I could have brewed _Wolfsbane_ for him, and all this wouldn't be necessary - " 

Remus has never heard of Wolfsbane, or what it does but he doesn't hear anything after that - as the moon appears through the small window and Remus screams, his bones starting to crack and _break and shift_ \- 

He hears Harry yelling at them all to change, his skin is tearing, it feels itchy, and dirty - but most of all, the pain - _pain_ \- pain - 

The moonlight shines through the window, and his eyes transform - this is always the last part of the evening he remembers, the way he feels his eyes _slitting_ , turning golden - and he doesn't _scream_ anymore.

The wolf _howls._

And for the first time forever, he can smell. Smell prey - _pack_ \- who is around him - the little details zoom past - he feels a sharp thud to his head as he realizes that he's tried to break out through the window -

The moon is _calling_ him.

The wolf howls.

And suddenly, something - somebody is stopping him - what's coming in his path - the wolf is so, so angry - he blinks -

Its another wolf.

A silver, sleek thing, with shining fur and a long snout, who stops him from tearing at his own limbs - he attacks without another thought - and then he feels himself being pulled back, something is curling around his body and under his limbs -

Its a giant serpant.

A massive, long, thick _snake_ \- with a _crown_ and a plume, and bulbous eyes - the wolf can't see colors, but he knows that this beast could swallow him whole - and so the animalistic urge to attack dies down a little.

Somewhere ahead, flames rage.

He doesn't know if its real or not but there's a _Dragon_ in front of him, not of the typical size, a great deal smaller, but fearsome in its own sense, there's fire and a _burst of wings_ and the door swings open, the wolf runs, to freedom, to _hunt -_

His pack - they haven't attacked him yet, so they must be - follows him.

The wolf runs through the forest, seven creatures sharp on his heels, he can sense them - and they don't wish him harm, he can tell - he catches glimpses of a dark, winged horse, a _Thestral?_ \- two Lions, mates, prancing about elegantly, almost playing with him - and a bright, _beautiful_ Bird flying on top -

Its _exhilarating_. Liberating.

Its beautiful - he can barely feel any pain, anymore - he's free, free, _free._

He feels nothing more, the hours pass, and the sun rises.

He _hates_ this part of the morning. The part where he wakes up, and the pain takes but a moment to come.

He waits - waits - and then, sits up.

_No pain._

But how is that possible -

Exhaling, remembering last night, the strange, strange dream -

His thoughts screech to a blaring stop, as something cold and wet drips on him, and he spins around. 

Its a _Phoenix._ Not Dumbledore's Phoenix, this one is somehow brighter, and sharper, its eyes glassy and wide, as its tears fall on Remus's arm, healing a small gash on his forearm - 

_No way._

He stands up easily, sways on his feet a little, feeling weary and tired and overworked, but not injured. No bones broken, no nothing. 

The Phoenix healed him, he realises. And if the bird is here, that means - 

He notices the lions first. Just two lions, or rather, a Lion and a Lioness, sleeping peacefully, their golden-red heads interwined together.

Its surreal. He blinks a few times, details of last night hitting him like a storm.

The mattress behind him is also occupied. There's a huge snow wolf, and clearly, a young girl - just sleeping on him, resting her head on its belly, her fingers brushing his fur subconsciously. He sees the flash of red hair - and realizes, its Ginny Prewett.

Remus suddenly feels heat prickle the left of his neck, and he turns towards it, there's a literal - actual Dragon, just lying there -

Its size is small, for a dragon, just about the size of a very small car and its wings are large, a scaly bronze, curled protectively around - Harry Potter.

Who is - apparently - _sleeping with a Dragon._

Remus shakes his head a few times, rubs his eyes as the Phoenix jumps down from its perching - and midway to the ground, transforms into Luna Lovegood.

He makes a small noise of surprise, and the animals wake immediately.

He watches as the Lions stretch and transform into Hermione and Ron, and the wolf turns into Blaise Zabini - who to Remus's mortification - immediately kisses Ginny, waking her up, as she kisses back with surprising force.

The dragon pushes Harry off him, before turning back - to Draco Black.

There's an awkward pause, until Harry says, "Mione, the eye thing for the _Basilisk?_ It works." 

Hermione smiles triumphantly, "Of course it does. Can you create the petrification eye cover film properly now?" 

Harry looks sheepish and mutters a, "I'll practice more." 

Remus doesn't know what to say. He's never felt more thankful - more confused - because why would they do this? 

Hermione seems to understand. She smiles warmly, "You don't need to thank us. Just don't breathe a word about Animagi to anyone, and we'll be okay." 

"Of course," Remus says, glad his voice came out evenly. "I - thank you. All of you. So much - Merlin, thank you." 

They smile at him, and Remus feels like he's missed something, as they just start walking out - like it was nothing. 

"Harry," he calls back, as Harry is the last one of leave. "Why - why did you - " 

Harry smiles, a little sadly and slowly and says, "Because you don't deserve to be so alone, Remus." 

They don't know him at all, and he's never known them before but Harry Potter thinks he deserves this. Somehow. 

"You're going to be alright, Remus Lupin," he says, before walking out.

He really is.

And he feels it, the squeezing sensation in his heart - he's going to be completely alright. 

Madam Pomphrey is extremely confused and thinks he has _Asclepius's_ Blood, the way he's healed and ready to go. 

Remus smiles and shrugs. 

Sirius and James and Peter greet him with more chocolate frogs, and questions not just about his mother, but him too. 

He's never felt his heart bursting with love as it does now.

__________

Severus Snape doesn't like Lily Evans anymore. He loves her, sure, like a sister - his oldest friend, but nothing more. He is embarrassed when he realizes how much of it was just a starvation, a _hunger_ for affection, and friendship, for _acceptance._

Its a strange realization, and not a very sudden one - something he explores as he watches Lily holding hands with a Ravenclaw Chaser - he feels nothing. 

No desire, no longing, no wistful glances - he doesn't feel anything. 

But, sometimes he looks at Selena Parkinson and likes her cutting opinions. 

She's not nice, not by a big margin - she's not like Lily, who was soft and sweet with him, reproachful like a pseudo mother, Parkinson is harsh, and has sharp edges and cuts, strong opinions and biting retorts for everybody.

He likes it. He can _admire_ it.

The way she treats him, not like a fragile glass vase that could break and turn dark if not treated properly - she likes his darkness, traces his scars with a glint in her eyes, and a promise to _destroy_. She isn't _good_ , not like Lily, she's - she's just herself. 

She's a Muggleborn too, the only one in Slytherin - but her duelling is by far the best, and she's punched Lucius Malfoy once, right in the face.

Its enough for him.

Severus doesn't want a mark on his arm, he hates tattoos anyway. He wants a Mastery in Defense, and an Apprenticeship in Potions - and maybe, just maybe, to work in the Department of Mysteries, research dark magic. 

He loves mysteries, after all, and he's a master of keeping secrets and appearances. 

He has a new secret now, a new alliance. A secret that could get him killed - but when Selena comes to him in the library, and asks for help with Charms, even though he _knows_ she's better at it than him, he thinks - 

Its worth it. 

On Christmas, he sends a small gift to Draco Black - who first introduced him to the wonder that is Selena Parkinson.

Because, really, just because Lily Evans was his whole world at a point, doesn't mean he can't ever have anybody else, does it?

He deserves it.

He deserves requited love, and he deserves happiness.

He deserves a choice.

__________


	2. i told the stars about you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written pretty quickly, and just to pass time really - in half an hour or so - but I love Bellatrix, so I ended up posting it.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!! Thanks for reading <3

_________

Bellatrix Black was going to throttle somebody. _Flay._ Kill, perhaps.

Painfully.

Preferably, Rodolphus _fucking_ Lestrange, but he was a Seventh Year and quite a scary one at that - but Lucius Malfoy was being a git, and he would work too.

Also, he screamed nice.

Of course, Narcissa was another pain. 

_"What did he do to you, Bella!"_ and a whole round of, " _That's so cruel, Bella!"_ along with some, _"If you don't put him down right now, I'll tell mother!"_

Tell her, then, darling _Cissy._

Tell her. 

Because Bellatrix really did want to know if she would care. 

She wouldn't, obviously, but maybe she would be so angry at her that she would cancel the fucking -

_Deep breaths._

( - the letter was sharp and crisp and so, so emotionless - _"the most powerful alliance of the century"_ \- but, but she had eleven straight OWL's, and what about the Research Project she was doing - _"duty to your blood and your forefathers"_ \- the words weren't even properly visible anymore, salty tears blurring them, no, no, no - _"The Lestrange family" - "high honour"_ \- but she wanted power, she needed it - she might be a woman but she was the best at duelling amongst all her cousins, one of the best at school, too - _"have accepted this betrothal"_ \- but you never even asked me? - )

Lucius Malfoy screamed again from where he was hanging upside down, and all Bellatrix saw was red, as she cursed once more, shaking.

_Red._

Rage, all encompassing anger. How dare he? How dare he have the option to chose who he married just because he was a _boy?_ And how dare he scream, now? He was weak - they were all _weak_ \- and she would show them, she would show her Mother - she wasn't going to be Rodolphus Lestrange's wife - she was going to be Bellatrix Black, an independent witch, of power and, and -

( - the letter she had received the day before her Mother's was a much better one. _Lord Voldemort,_ he was called - quite a fitting name, she thought, judging from the way he spoke - _"a woman of your callibre" - " so much hidden potential" - "join me, Ms. Black, and I shall teach you so much more than Hogwarts Curriculum covers" - "thrust for power, your knowledge put to use, finally" -_ he knew her, he understood, and she had heard his name before, there were whispers in the dungeons - but he had never written to anyone else personally, had never recognized that in anyone but _her_ \- )

Malfoy fell to the ground with a loud thud as Narcissa lowered her wand, looking at Bella with reproach.

"Detention, Black," Lucius breathed out, fury written on his face - right before he passed out.

___________

Bellatrix forced herself to breathe, as she glared holes into the silver and green hangings around her bed. 

_In. Out._ In. Out.

She hadn't written back to her mother yet, and it was honestly grating on her nerves. She couldn't just refuse, could she? 

Like Andromeda - _Blood Traitor,_ with that filthy _mudblood_ of hers, holding hands when she thought nobody could see them -

She didn't want to be a blood traitor.

In. Out. _In. Out._

She released the fist she had been clenching unconsciously as she saw two beads of blood flowing from the crescent fingernail marks.

She set up silencing charms around her bed before lying down, and finally, finally, let herself cry.

___________

Blood. 

Black - glistening red - and so, so dark. 

And suddenly, there was light.

Yellows and blues and whites.

__

_"Hurry up, wouldn't you, Bella?" seven year old Andromeda asked, pushing up her yellow dress with one hand, and running across the river, leaping from one stone to another, effortlessly and gracefully._

_"Alright, Andy, coming!" she yelled back, trembling slightly - she hated, hated, hated water - so, so much. She hated it, Merlin, but she couldn't tell Andromeda that. She wasn't a scared baby, like Regulus. She could do this. Besides, Andromeda never asked anyone for help, either - she was strong and in-de-pen-dent, Bella had just learned the word - and if Andy could do it, so could she._

_She jumped, the same way Andy had - the exact same way, and suddenly, the water wasn't so scary anymore - first rock, second rock - third rock, fourth rock -_

_She slipped without warning, and whatever confidence she had built up was suddenly gone, as she went down on all fours between two huge rocks, knees scratching horribly._

_"Andy!" she called, cringing at how terrified her voice sounded. "Andy - I - "_

_Andromeda came running back, sure footed and regarded her for a second with suspicious eyes, "You just fell once, its not a big deal - push out, look, like this - "_

_"No, no I can't - please pull me up, Andy, please, I can't - I can't - I'll drown, I swear, I hate - hate - water, and I hate coming to the river, please just - "_

_She made a grab for her, but Andromeda, who was looking increasingly confused and panicked, sidestepped, maybe thinking that Bella would pull her in, too._

_Her head hit the rock with a horrifying thwack, and all she remembered next - was the sinking, the water was going in her mouth, down her throat - and she could hear yelling - taste iron - it was all red -_

_She woke up in St. Mungo's, with Andromeda on her side, chewing her nails and looking extremely scared, relieved and guilty - all at the same time._

_"Andy?" Bella said, hoarsely, needing to get this all out. "I'm - sorry I'm such a baby - I didn't want to spoil your fun - "_

_"Oh, Bella," Andy said, interrupting her with welling tears. "If you didn't like the river, you should have told me before. We could have stayed back with Regulus and Narcissa, I wouldn't have ever forced you to come - you shouldn't hide something that scares you so much, Merlin, you could have - "_

_"I wanted to be - brave," Bellatrix whispered, sniffling a little too._

_"Bella, you're already so brave," she said. "Brave people are also scared of things. Besides, I'm your sister. You don't have to be brave in front of me. If you ever feel like that - you have to tell me, okay?"_

_Bella nodded, not understanding all of it, but the gist. She cared about Bella._

_Always had._

_"Okay? If you ever, ever need me," Andy had said, smiling slightly now. "I'll be there. Just come find me, and I'll help you out of whatever mess Brave Bellatrix's made."_

_Bella laughed as Andy tickled her._

__

And it was dark again. 

She woke up gasping, her hands wildly flaying. 

Andromeda. She could find Andromeda. 

Her sister would be there. She would help her. Tell her what to do. 

Maybe, maybe - Andy could even convince Mother out of the betrothal. She had stopped hers from happening, after all, without their parents even getting a hint of that mudblood she was going around with.

__________ 

She wasn't in her bed, Bella thought, with increasing suspicion - was she _with - ?_

She made her way up the common room, slipping out of the potrait easily and walked up the corridor. 

Andy must be in the Library, she thought - she was usually there, maybe she's studying with that boy, what's-his-name Tonks. She strode in the Library, giving Madam Pince a nod, it wasn't that late yet.

Just after curfew, probably.

She was just around the corner, when she heard her sister, and a boy - arguing.

_" - this does mean a lot to me, too, Ted, you don't understand how the situation is for me - "_

The boy let out a harsh laugh, which bristled Bella immediately.

_" - in the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black? You're right, what do I understand, when I'm just a filthy little mudblood? - "_

Bellatrix could not have said it better, herself.

_" - stop calling yourself that, Ted. And listen to me. I have half a month till I graduate. And after that - "_

_" - and after that, you marry whoever your family thinks you should, and forget about me like I was just a high school fling, is that right? - "_

_" - high what? - "_

_" - its a muggle expression, Andy, that's not the point - "_

Bellatrix wrinkled her nose in disgust.

_" - and my point is, that you listen, right now! I'm not going to forget about you, and I'm not marrying just anybody my family says I should - its my life and I make my own decisions, but you have to give me enough time - "_

_Andromeda is going to leave you too_ , a voice in her head whispered, cruelly. All you have is family, and she's going to leave too, and you have nobody to leave with. 

Nobody who wants you, unless its arranged for the family's profit. Nobody who thinks you're worth anything, if not for your last name.

_" - do you promise? - "_

His voice was croaky, suddenly and exhausted. Bella could relate, as she listened - eyes probably wild and furious. 

_"Yes. I promise. We - I'm not - I'm not playing around, Ted, I swear."_

And then, Bella could hear them snog and she could hear the terrifying ringing in her ears because - _Merlin._

"I love you, Andromeda," he said, and Bellatrix almost fled - Salazar, why was she still here? 

"I love you too, Ted," she replied, her voice breathy. "So, so much."

It felt like someone was calling her.

In. Out. In. Out.

She slipped out of the library, wordlessly, not sure if she was imagining someone still yelling for her.

Draco Black had never imagined that Aunt Bella - sorry - _cousin_ Bellatrix could ever look like that, squeezing behind tears with that wistful longing in her eyes, all hidden behind so much anger - so much fear.

He understood fear. And desperation.

Bellatrix had looked _desperate._

_________ 

Bellatrix went back through the potrait and laid down on her bed - ignoring the twinge of hurt she felt, the envy, because her sister had someone, who did Bella have? - nobody, _nobody_ at all. It was pathetic, really. 

She had no real friends - nobody who - _loved_ her. 

Andromeda and Narcissa, both had someone to turn to, someone to hold hands with or whatever bullshit couples do - and _god, she had nobody._

At all. 

If Andromeda ever had a problem, she wouldn't come to Bellatrix. She would go to fucking Tonks. If Narcissa had a problem, she would go to Malfoy or Andromeda.

Bellatrix hated feeling like she was not needed.

_We could use your talent, Ms. Black._

She swallowed nervously, shuffling into her slippers.

_We need more people like you, pure of blood and passionate about their ideals._

Maybe she should take a walk.

_I could teach you so much, and I don't doubt that you could teach my younger recruits even more._

The moon was a thin, crescent ring.

_'As a daughter of the Noble House of Black, Bella, you shall accept Mr. Rodolphus Lestrange's hand in - '_

The grass was cold and wet under her feet.

_To cultivate the enormous potential I have been told you have._

It was four in the morning, when she finally decided.

_'Your duty to produce a Heir, an honour befitting a - '_

She picked up the quill, and formatted a letter on an official Black parchment.

_To Lord Voldemort,_ she wrote, with a wobbly flourish.

__________

Bellatrix dressed before breakfast feverishly, nervously, she felt that she had written the letter quite well, seeing as it was penned down at _four in the fucking morning_ \- her conditions seemed clear, in the letter - if he somehow helped her with her untimely engagement, she would assist him. In his endeavors.

In milder words.

Picking up the envelope, she made her way up, first to the Owlery. She had to post this letter. This morning, right now. 

Today, or she won't have the courage left. 

She was just near the Owlery, and desperately trying not to think about the things she had heard about the man - the gory details of how ruthless and _dangerous_ he really was - focusing on the task at hand, so engrossed that she didn't notice him until he was right in front of her. 

"I heard about your - " Draco began, carefully as if gauging her reaction. "About Lestrange."

It was common news that her cousin Draco hated her. 

She wondered if maybe when he was a baby, she had pinched him or tickled him too hard or something - most days, he looked at her with such a hard glare, she didn't know what to say. 

"Yes," she replied, shortly - colder than she had meant it to be. "What about it?" 

"Are you happy with it?" he blurted out, his face conflicted - anger, pity, confusion, _guilt._

She could snub him right now, when he showed her more emotion than he ever had, or - what the hell. 

"Do I _look_ happy, blondie?" she said, sneering and fingering the letter in her pocket. "Obviously not."

Draco nodded shakily - his eyes still haunted, like he had seen a ghoul.

"What're you going to do about it, then?"

She crossed her arms, so she wouldn't accidentally strangle him.

"What's it to you, Draco?" she asked, her lips curling in a bitter smile. "You hate me. Why do you even care?" 

"Nobody should ever feel like they don't have any choice," he said, so quietly that she almost didn't hear him - his eyes distant, like he was remembering something.

"Do you need help?" he added, after a pause.

Bella almost laughed. Help? How would he help her? And most importantly, _why?_

"What do you want from me?" she asked, finally. "What's the catch?"

He didn't even pause for a second.

"Kindness," he said, firmly - as Bella blanched. What?

"I want you to stop thinking of yourself as superior just because you're a Black. I want you to learn about Muggles and to realise that Muggleborns are the same as purebloods." 

_As if,_ she scoffed inwardly. 

But - but, she could always pretend otherwise. Better than joining an organisation she knew nothing about, better than trusting a man she didn't know - an organisation she was sure dealt with so much dark magic, that she would soon get swept up with the temptation, the _hunger._

"That's it?" she asked, her laugh derisive, as he looked at her, surprised that she'd not made a fuss about his condition, stupid as it was. "You want me to chum up with mud - with _Muggleborns_ , and you'll get me out of a betrothal with Lestrange?" 

Draco flashed her a quick smirk, sharp and somehow, quite scary - coming from a third year. She had learnt not to challenge him, though, so there was that. 

"Being civil, even if its just pretending," he began, as she reluctantly smiled. "Is a good start, for me." 

"How would you even do that?" she pressed, the letter in her pocket suddenly seeming much lighter. "How would you convince my mother?" 

"I have my ways," he said, with an unreadably sly smile. 

She fidgeted with the letter more, wondering whether he'll want some formal sort of vow - or will he just trust her.

Laughable as it was, Draco trusting her.

"Deal?" he asked, casually.

She stared at him - he looked sincere enough, and there was just something about Draco - and his merry band of seven that made people listen. Made people agree. He could get her out of this. He could. He would. 

She nodded, smiling without hesitation.

" _Deal."_

They made their way down to the Great Hall together, even as he glanced at the corridor she was going along. 

"Where were you going, earlier?" he asked, as they sat down. 

"Owlery. Probably making a big mistake," she replied, and he looked at her once, with a curious frown and then, flashing realisation with a knowing smile, although a surprised one as she buttered her toast. 

She tore the letter on the table itself, dumping the pieces in the waste bowl on the edge, and Draco almost choked himself laughing, although she really didn't know what was so funny. 

"This is honestly the best day of my _life_ ," he declared, beaming slightly deliriously at the pieces of paper floating in the bowl. 

Draco was probably crazy, but that wasn't her business, was it?

__________


	3. you were my wish on a shooting star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know when it happened or how - but my simple time travel story has now acquired a whole starry night theme. Its probably because there are so manyy Black family characters who I love - and who Jkr killed - they all deserve better.
> 
> I loved writing this chapter, even though I kind of got too much into the angsty back story. 
> 
> But I hope you enjoy!

__________

Barty Crouch was six years old, and he was bored.

They lived in a fairly isolated area and had a small family, the three of them - it was just his father, his mother and him. 

But his mother wasn't at home right now, she had gone for tea with Mrs. Bones and Father - well, Father was never home. Barty knew he was acting a little ungrateful, his father worked so hard only for him - so he should not whine or complain. 

But, maybe - maybe if he had less work, he would have more time to spend with Barty. 

He snuck inside the home office quietly, he knew he wasn't supposed to be here, obviously - but once his father saw what he had done, he wouldn't mind. He had seen his father doing work there - he knew how to sort through the letters and he could do his father's signature too, very easily. 

Tugging his feet once more to heighten himself on the chair, Barty pulled the peacock quill towards him - beaming as he did so. Father would be so proud, once he saw how Barty could help him.

He liked it when father was proud of him. He always tried so hard to make it happen.

_It would strike him later - that he doesn't actually know what his father looks like when he's proud of him - because he hasn't ever seen it yet._

With an important flourish - just like father, he thought - he dipped the quill in the ink well and raised it above the paper -

"Barty?"

He stopped in his motion instantly, a drop of ink falling down on the parchment as his father came through the door - his eyes widening in shock, face contorting with ugly anger.

"What are you doing, Barty?" he asked, so loudly that Barty jumped in fright.

Barty opened his mouth to explain how much help he could be - but before that, his father had already come closer to the desk, and seen the small drop of ink that had fallen accidentally.

He doesn't remember much of the evening, it was all a haze of screaming and _shrill,_ loud noises - but he remembers tears - the salty taste as he swallowed - the taste he comes to associate with cold _fear_ \- his father's furious eyes - something burning his hands - a surprising amount of pain, as red welts _lash_ across his palms in rapid succession - his mother coming back home and talking to his father, her eyes flashing.

_Why was everyone so angry?_

Maybe, Barty really was an extremely pathetic son - he was never, ever going to disappoint his parents ever again. He was ungrateful, and _useless_ \- and his father was right, obviously he was. He would have to improve. 

"You will never raise your wand on my son again, Bartemius, or I'm packing," she had said, deadly calm, as Barty choked back tears again and again - not understanding anything.

_Packing?_

But - but, he had only wanted to help father, only wanted him to spend more time with him. His mother wouldn't send him away, would she? She liked him, he thought decisively - she did. She wouldn't make him pack up and leave. Would she? He would have to go to the children's home, and he didn't want to do that.

At all.

Barty doesn't remember much of the night, either - but right before he sleeps, he realises what's changed. 

His father isn't just somebody to admire and believe in - _he is also to be feared._

There's a little part of him that still hopes that his father would spend time with him the next day. Or maybe come to wish him goodnight. 

He doesn't come.

___________

Barty Crouch was eight years old, and wearing his new dress robes. 

It was his father's birthday - and he hadn't just bought a present, but made one himself - spending weeks to get it just right. His mother had assured him that it was beautiful and thoughtful, too - and that his father would love it.

He really hoped so.

They were planning to stay at home, because his father never appreciated the crowd in restaurants, and besides, their house elves had been cooking all day, special meals that his father liked. 

It would be perfect, he thought, as he straightened his hair once more. His father didn't like anything but neat and slicked-back. 

They went down from their respective bedrooms, waiting in the living room for him to arrive.

His father was three hours late.

But that only meant that his father had had to work till later - his juniors were often incompetent, Barty knew that - so it was even more important that they have a good dinner.

When he finally came, Barty felt so happy, and thus, excited - that he almost barreled into him to hug him, with a loud, " _Happy Birthday, father!"_

He barely noticed that his father didn't exactly hug back.

His mother asked questions, trying to make interesting conversation - and Barty could see too, how much she wanted him to just smile once - but he never gave any reply beyond the occasional _"yes"_ and soon, his mother fell silent too.

But his gift could cheer father up, right?

As soon as dinner was done, he handed over the meticulously prepared gift, wrapped with pale blue paper - in crisp, sharp folds - everything in order, just like his father liked - his eyes wide and hopeful, as he bit his lower lip.

Any moment now, his father would open it and see the homemade giftbox that Barty had made - with the mason jar filled with little notes that described Barty's love for his father, the special quills he had bought, the drinking mug, the cravat, the bar of dark chocolate that his father liked, the poem. The poem that had taken him _hours_ to get right - with proper rhyme schemes and pentameters.

The poem that would make his father realise just how much Barty admired him.

But his father didn't open the gift immediately - with the enthusiasm that Barty had imagined.

He kept it on the table first and asked, his voice curt, "What's in this, Barty?"

"Its - its your birthday gift," he said, a little hesitantly.

_He had done it all right, hadn't he?_

"I made it myself. I've been working on it for almost a month," he added, proudly.

"But you had your exams last week," his father said, and Barty's heart sank, his shoulders slumping. "Were you working on this while you were supposed to be studying?"

"Just an hour or two," he said quietly, defensively folding his arms.

"You know you can't waste your study time for something as worthless as this, Barty," his father replied, sternly. "You have to give in your best. You weren't even a part of the top two positions this year." 

"I was a part of the top _three,"_ he whispered, his ears ringing - hands trembling - whether it was out of fear or anger or just disappointment, he didn't know - or maybe just the word, _worthless._

His gift was _worthless._

"You will do better from now on," his father said, looking at the gift - like he was going to open it - which would still be worth it - Barty thought. 

"Thank you for the gift," he said, finally, picking the still-wrapped present and getting up from the table. "I've had quite a long evening, so I'll be turning in early. Goodnight, Barty."

Barty watched him go.

"Do you think he wants to open it alone?" he asked his mother, who was clenching her jaw - her eyebrows pinched together. "Maybe he doesn't like to open presents in front of other people?" 

"That - that must be it, darling," his mother said, smiling faintly. "I'm sure he'll love it when he opens it. You don't worry about it anymore, alright?"

He nodded - disappointment still heavy on his chest, but his father had thanked him, and taken the gift along, so that meant something, right?

_Almost half a year later, Barty will find the unopened present lying somewhere at the back of a closet, covered in dust and he still won't fully understand what he did wrong that day. But it must be his fault. He would just have to improve, then._

__________

Barty was eleven years old, and so, _so_ scared. 

He was eleven. 

But his letter hadn't come yet. 

It had almost been half a day, and wasn't the letter supposed to reach at midnight the night before? He had had some very rare bouts of accidental magic - and his mother had told him he wasn't a squib. 

But if his letter didn't come, that meant he wasn't magic, right? 

He ignored his heart drumming - what if the letter didn't come at all? What would his father say? 

He wouldn't want a filthy _squib_ for a son. Nobody did.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe - it wouldn't do to panic. The letter will come, any minute now, because - Barty was magical. He was a wizard, _he knew it,_ and the owl was late.

But owls are never late, a voice in his head told him. It sounded vaguely like his father. Owls aren't late, and you're just trying to convince yourself that you're not a squib. 

You're lucky your father has a late night shift and wouldn't come back home for a while. Because what would you show him if he asked for your letter? 

"Eat, Barty," his mother said, pushing his plate closer to him. "You're looking very pale." 

"But - but, my - my letter," he said, his voice so desperate and small. "It hasn't - my letter will come, right?" 

"We'll deal with it, honey," she said nervously, clearly evading the question. 

He pushed the plate away, feeling sick. Squibs didn't deserve food like this. 

It all made sense now, he thought savagely. _Obviously, your father couldn't love you -_ wouldn't love you. You're just a worthless _squib_. 

And when he came - what was Barty going to say? 

Thankfully, he wouldn't come until the evening, and Barty would have something ready by then, something that could be said without seeming like scum -

"Elizabeth, I'm home!"

Or not. He willed his breathing to slow, almost running upto his room - to avoid the miserable confrontation that was to come.

_Why're you running, Barty?_

Because you're a coward, his father replied in his head. You're a coward - and a squib. 

He locks his door - hears his mother explaining in a hushed voice which she thinks isn't audible - his father shouting angrily about how he came home early from work specifically for that letter.

But he's heard all that before.

He wonders how long would it be till his father comes up and yells at him, scorn in his eyes, he wonders how long will it be till his father tells him, once again - just how useless he is.

But he doesn't come. And somehow, that hurts even more - he isn't even worth his father's anger anymore. He's just - not worth _anything._

He doesn't realise when he starts crying or how long he cries for - but he's drowning in self loathing, in so much fear - so much _hatred,_ because he can't even recieve a letter right.

His father's right, after all. 

After almost a year of doubting him, beginning to suspect that maybe it isn't Barty who's the problem, but his father -

That's again, not true. 

Barty is the one who is wrong. The one always in the wrong.

Its around nine at night that he's stopped crying - just before his mother brings him a tray of food, which he refuses - but with a grateful smile. He should, obviously. She's helping him when he doesn't deserve her love. He doesn't deserve anything. 

He asks her if his father's slept already. She's barely opened her mouth to refuse, when Barty runs out of the door - he has to apologise, has to do something - _anything._

His father is sitting in a chair on the balcony, staring at the land beyond their house.

"Father - I," he begins, his voice breaking, not really knowing where he's going with this.

Luckily, he doesn't need to.

" _You're no son of mine,"_ he says, so quietly that Barty almost misses it.

_Almost._

Tears are welling in his eyes all over again, before he even reaches his room, and he feels like utter shit. 

He lays down, pretending to sleep - like this hadn't just been the worst birthday of his life, the worst day ever - his pillow damp. And at one in the morning, when Barty is just about to fall asleep from exhaustion itself - there's a tapping sound from the window.

His mind is numb as he opens the window and lets the owl in, his hands trembling as he opens his letter.

His Hogwarts Letter. A day late - his moment to shine, his happy moment - completely ruined.

On the outside of the letter, there's a red mark that wasn't originally made when the letter was released.

_Redirected to Bartemius Crouch Junior,_ it says, _from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement._

Where his father works.

The _'Junior'_ is underlined with a bold dash of ink.

_Redirected._

Because there was nobody to receive it there.

He feels like screaming - directing all his fear, his rage - all his frustration -

His letter wasn't late. It just hadn't been delivered to the right person.

He has never hated his father or the name he shares with him _so much_ ever before, he thinks, his chest heaving.

And now, something's changed again.

His father is not somebody who is to be admired or feared because he's always right.

His father is somebody to be disliked and avoided because when he isn't right, he makes Barty feel like _dying._

___________

Its that particular night that Barty decides that in the next seven years, he would not only change his name - but anything that might link him to his father. His control freak father - who only ever gave him spite and anger and cold indifference.

He hates, hates, _hates_ him.

His father was a Ravenclaw. 

Which meant, he couldn't be one.

"Not Ravenclaw, not Ravenclaw, please - anything but Ravenclaw - even Hufflepuff, I don't care - just not Ravenclaw," he mutters, as soon as he sits on the stool.

"Oh, don't worry, boy - there's only one place for you and its not Ravenclaw," the hat whispers and Barty beams, even before it shouts, " _Slytherin!"_

He walks down to the table clad in green and silver, and sits next to Regulus Black, and Rabastan Lestrange - and is congratulated, but really stiffly - by Draco Black, who is Regulus's elder brother.

The Howler comes the next morning, and he absolutely _loves_ it.

After that, it comes easy. His father never liked Potions much, and never scored above an Exceeds Expectations in it, which means - he'll never get anything but an Outstanding there. He works hard, focusing on all his subjects equally - because he wants - no - _needs_ his father to see that his squib-not-really- _his_ -son is getting straight O's.

His father hated quidditch, so he trains and trains even though he doesn't have the natural skill for it. 

Regulus and Rabastan do, and surprisingly - they both understand why Barty needs to do it. Regulus does his seeker practices alone, but helps Rab and Barty with Beater and Keeper practices, respectively.

They become fast friends, Barty and Rabastan listening to Regulus's Sirius Rants - the same way Barty rants about his father.

_Not quite the same, though, because Regulus finds his brother annoying and boisterous, but he doesn't hate him. Not even a little bit. Barty's seen them exchanging smiles sometimes._

_Warm smiles._

_But Sirius isn't like Draco, and Regulus likes quieter people. Barty wonders what kind of people he likes and how his life would have been if he had siblings. Its hard to imagine just having someone like that, someone you can take for granted._

Best part? Rabastan and Regulus both come from families where Law Enforcement officials, especially those like his father - who convict and imprison people indiscriminately, even the purebloods - are considered as annoying pests, and so, they both readily agree with him when he tells them that his father is an asshole.

In a month more, Barty's almost forgotten what it meant like to not be free.

He _loves_ Hogwarts.

Hogwarts is _home._

When he goes back to his father's house - he hardly considers it his own anymore - he doesn't even look at him once. 

He shows his academic report - its all straight O's, which his mother coos over. His father gets a disconcerted sort of look on his face - like he doesn't know what to think and Barty loves that too. 

___________

Its in second year that Barty first realises that everything isn't perfect.

He already knows that he's the outsider in his little trio, what with Rab and Reg spending their holidays together, and their families knowing each other - but atleast he knows that they have his back.

He's in the common room, just near a dark corner - he's almost sure nobody can see him. But he can see them. And hear their conversation.

"Why do you let Barty run around with you all the time, Rab?" Evan Rosier asks, and Barty can hear him smirking. "Don't you get tired of the little creep?"

He waits for Rabastan to defend him.

"He's just the Crouch boy," Rabastan says, shrugging. "What's the point in drowning kicked crups?"

Barty's shoulders are tense and taut as he swallows. Its not the comparison between himself and a kicked crup that does it - its the way he says _'Crouch boy'_ \- like Barty will never be anything more than that.

"Hey, Rab," Regulus says, as he enters, leaving the door open behind him. "What're you upto?"

"Oh, you _own_ the crup too," Evan says, leering mockingly, as Regulus looks at him with confusion. "So, tell me. Are you like Lestrange here, who keeps him around out of the kindness of his heart?"

"Who're you both talking about?" Regulus says, scowling.

"Crouch, of course," Evan says. "Feel sorry for him, too?"

Barty doesn't know what he's done to make Evan hate him so much.

"Excuse me?" Regulus says, angrily - finally understanding what the two mean, and Barty suddenly finds it easier to breathe. "Barty's my _friend._ And ten times the person you'll ever be, _Lestrange."_

He walks out, swinging the portrait shut - leaving behind him a tense silence, that Evan breaks by laughing nervously.

Barty continues his Charms Essay, and he doesn't even feel like he just lost a friend.

When they stop talking to and waiting around for Rabastan, Barty knows why - but he still asks, wondering what Regulus would tell him.

"He's a double-faced arsehole," Regulus says shortly, not even looking at him. "He was bitching about someone I lov - about one of my brothers."

Barty has no explanation to give him when Regulus asks him why he's smiling so much. 

Everything isn't perfect. But its so much better.

___________

Its Draco's last year, and Regulus complains about that fact to no end. 

Their group of seven has pulled away from most activities like Quidditch - and Regulus swears that they all make regular trips outside school, that they're upto something big.

They catch them sneaking around on the seventh floor once, with something that looks suspiciously like a _sword_ \- in Harry Potter's hands - but to Regulus's constant annoyance, Draco doesn't explain anything, even after a month long pestering.

Regulus's Sirius Rants have slowly become _Why-am-I-the-youngest_ Rants, but he's happy that Harry Potter and Ginny Prewett won't be playing quidditch anymore.

Slytherin could have a serious chance at winning, this year.

Barty listens to Reg, privately thinking that the only reason people have never openly tried picking on him for being the thin, short boy that he is - the _Crouch_ in Slytherin - is Draco. He's friends with his brother - so, he's obviously out of question.

But Barty's seen the dirty looks Mulciber and Avery pass him - he _knows_ that Dolohov's tripped him in the hallways more than once - and that Crabbe and Goyle are the ones who steal the food packages his mother sends.

Rabastan naturally has some concentrated hatred for him - and Evan hates him too, because his father convicted Mr. Rosier with three years in Azkaban for keeping and selling Dark Artefacts.

He wonders that if Draco wasn't here, would he have the guts to even refuse anyone for anything.

He wouldn't, not really, he admits to himself. Defense or duelling has never been his forte. He would have been _chewed alive_ in Slytherin if not for the unspoken and accidental protection Draco provides to Regulus and him. 

He likes Potions more than Defense, and he loves Charms - also, if he's being completely honest, Care of Magical Creatures, because his father never let him keep a pet. 

But he doesn't react to any of the Slytherins, because he thinks they would stop if he doesn't. Anyway, its not like he can fight on his own against the whole house.

He's settled down a lot more in the last two years - he doesn't do _everything_ just to spite his father, anymore - so he's left the quidditch team.

He never enjoyed it much, not like Regulus, who looks his happiest when he's not on the ground, his dark hair whipping around him, so pale that he looks like an angel. _Death angel,_ he thinks, with a small smile - as Regulus catches the practice snitch and cheers, flying higher than Barty can see from the stands.

He comes zooming down fast - and for a split second, Barty thinks he's falling and his heart _stops_ \- but then he's laughing - his cheeks flushed, the wings of the snitch fluttering before he releases it again.

"I've been practicing this new thing," he yells, over the wind, grinning widely, and in one fluid, elegant movement - leaps up and stands on his broom.

Barty wants to shout at him to sit back down, he's going to break his head - but Regulus doesn't appear to be listening, as he spreads his arms, levelled straight with his shoulders and glides over to him, like he's riding a muggle skateboard.

Barty's gaping - he's never seen such skill on a broom - he doesn't even realise when Regulus is right in front of him, his hand stretched.

He looks stupidly at the hand offered, surely Regulus can't mean him to -

" _Trust me,"_ he says, laughing - but his eyes are sincere, so Barty takes the hand, and jumps on the broom right in front of him, Regulus steadying him when he stumbles, and they glide higher, standing sideways - their hands entwined, until Reg turns to him.

It feels like he's seeing Regulus's eyes for the first time.

Regulus's eyes - which are now eyeing Barty's lips with an unmistakable expression. Oh.

Oh. Barty gets it now. 

Or some of it. Probably. Perhaps. He should -

Its like Regulus knows how unsure and slow he is and that his brain is streaming utter shit at him - because he smiles slowly and leans in, one hand on Barty's neck.

Its definitely and absolutely the best first kiss anyone can ever have - Regulus tastes like lemons and spearmint and flowers and - _Merlin, this boy is bewitching_ , he thinks, inching closer to Regulus Black, fifty feet in the air.

___________

He should have known it was all too good to last.

He curses himself for being so obvious about his relationship with Regulus, and so gullible, for being so completely stupid - then, he curses Evan fucking Rosier for being an utter bastard and his fucking father, for making Evan hate him - and Rabastan Lestrange, who has no right to say that Barty betrayed his trust, after what he said about him.

"What will daddy say when he gets to know his darling son's a shirt-lifter?" Evan asks, jeeringly, with a swift kick to his chest, making him gasp painfully even as he thinks that there is so much factually incorrect about that statement.

_Darling son, really?_

Evan had come running to him right before Regulus's big quidditch game - the final match of the year, between Gryffindor and Slytherin - and told him frantically that Regulus needs his help, he's panicking. Reg had been a nervous basket case all morning, so Barty didn't even question why Evan Rosier of all people would try helping.

But now that he's locked inside a tiny old Charms classroom, because Rabastan and Evan ambushed him from the back, he seriously regrets that.

Also, he doesn't want to be late for Reg's match.

Everything depends on him, as usual, this year. The new Gryffindor Seeker is shit - but James Potter is a _phenomenal_ Chaser - and the fact lies there, that Regulus _will_ catch the snitch, but in _how much time?_

Because, Potter, if given around half an hour, can score enough to win - even if Regulus gets the snitch.

He tries inching inconspicuously to his wand, with the hand that isn't broken - but Rabastan notices and kicks it away with a laugh.

"You don't belong in Slytherin," he says, like Barty didn't know it already. "You could be a Hufflepuff, but I don't think they like poofs anymore than us."

They laugh, like their insults are not incompetent and ineffective, at best and simply stupid, at worst.

His disdainful glare must have been too obvious - because Rabastan's smile falters and he raises his wand, with an ugly expression on his face.

_There's a dark blue stream of light and -_

Sometimes, Barty forgets that Rabastan is literally the brother of Rodolphus Lestrange, who is You-Know-Who's right hand man, and that he knows several painful dark curses, that aren't a part of their curriculum.

There are moments, though, like this particular one - when he remembers it.

He brings his hands to his face, and it comes away covered in red - _are his eyes bleeding? -_ and the pain is too much - there's a whistle in the distance, meaning Regulus's match must have started -

He suddenly realises that if Rabastan wants to, he can kill Barty right now. He's completely at their mercy.

Its funny that when he thinks of his own death - his first thought isn't even about himself. What about Regulus, they had just _started -_

The door swings open, quite calmly - even though, Barty's sure that Rabastan put a hundred locking and silencing spells on the room.

And right in the doorway, stands Luna Lovegood, who smiles serenely like the whole scene in front of her, is something from the pages of a nature calendar.

Rabastan is staring, and finally - Barty can see, he isn't so cock sure anymore. Lovegood may be a slightly insane Ravenclaw, an odd bird, really - but she's also a seventh year prefect and more than that, she's a part of the gang.

The _Gang._ With capitals.

She simply walks - unrestricted, to Barty and offers him a hand to stand. He accepts hurriedly, even though his vision is red and blurry - and his hand is slipping, covered in blood -

She suddenly reaches for his eyes and he shuts them instinctively, before something wet touches his eyelids, and the pain - vanishes. Just like that.

Luna Lovegood apparently, has a transparent _Magic Healing Balm_ \- and that's saying something, because everything around him is literal magic.

She just has something that's - _more magic._

Before leaving the room, Barty wonders if Evan or Rabastan would stop them - they don't, but Luna stops and turns around, still with that small smile.

"You'll both be going to Blaise after dinner," she says, her voice suddenly colder, contrasting with her smile - which makes Barty think that his injury was a lot more serious than she let on. "I'm sure he'll want to talk to you after I tell him about this."

Evan scoffs but doesn't refuse. Rabastan is just glaring, his wand clenched tight.

They walk out together, Barty is still confused and cleaning up his face, fixing his finger bones - but thanks her for the help - which she accepts with another wide smile.

He wonders if maybe Ravenclaw wouldn't have been that bad.

Which is when he realises, that if he didn't go to Slytherin, he would never have become friends with Regulus -

Regulus. _Oh, fuck._

He hastily thanks Luna again, as she says something about wrackspurts around his head that make him lose track of time - before running, sprinting to the pitch.

He looks at the score - and _oh shit_. There's almost a gap of one fifty points, with Gryffindor at the lead - and the quaffle is in Potter's hands, he's streaking towards the goalpost, dodging left and right - passing to Mckinnon - who passes back.

He looks for Regulus but he can't see him anywhere, is he alright? 

Then suddenly, there's a glint of gold somewhere, and Barty sees Regulus diving from above the clouds - going so, so fast - even a slight turbulence would make him fall and break his face -

Right before he reaches the ground, almost six feet up, Reg jumps up on his broom and the crowd gasps, there are scattered cheers and claps - as he stands straight up on it, his face screwed up in concentration.

He glides just a yard further - and closes his right fist on something - his face breaking into a wide grin as he flips off the broom, landing perfectly gracefully on the wet grass.

There's silence for a second before the Slytherins _explode_ around him.

Barty watches as Sirius, Draco and Harry Potter lift Regulus and James up collectively and Regulus offers a handle of the Match Trophy to James, who accepts with an easy grin, cheering and laughing.

Its the perfect win, Slytherins and Gryffindors both cheering - their total scores for the main Quidditch Cup tied at an exact equal. 

Barty finds himself running - his eyes only on Regulus, who still hasn't seen him and seems to be searching the stands.

He crosses Pettigrew and Lupin and a reluctantly smiling Lily Evans, Zabini is there too, not looking bored as per usual, but with a shit-eating grin on his face, he can see the Prewett siblings and Hermione Granger, who Barty makes small talk with in the Library.

He slips past and suddenly, he's right next to Sirius Black, who stares at him for a second blankly, before smirking devilishly - and lifting Regulus and passing him onto Barty's shoulders.

Regulus protests for a second, before he sees him - and his face breaks into the most brillant smile that Barty's ever seen - his lips forming a question that gets lost under all the noise.

He swings his legs down - his arms are right around Barty's neck - and he smiles at him like he's his whole world.

And then, they're kissing - Sirius and James are yelling - people are clapping and whistling - but Barty can see literal _stars_ in his eyes.

And Regulus is the most beautiful of them all.

___________

_There are torn letters and frayed hems of soft sweaters and wine chocolate truffles._

_There are rainy nights in the dungeons and old muggle neon lights and silences that aren't awkward._

_There are broken mirrors and sunsets and impromptu dances in the common room._

_There are burning howlers and stolen snitches and two strips of muggle photo booth pictures._

_There are nightmares and warm hugs and ink tattoos that they freely chose to take._

____________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like a happy ending was required - it turned out to be more fluffy comfort though. THE POINT HERE WAS - that Draco influenced Regulus a lot, otherwise Regulus would probably have never come out or had the guts to stand up to Lestrange or Rosier for Barty. And then obviously, there's the whole Luna and Blaise interruption, and quite clearly, they've all started hunting Hocruxes - I tried making it as clear as possible!
> 
> Thank you for reading!!
> 
> If you liked this, do try all my other works!

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this, try my other works too ;)
> 
> _[and he smiled (with a mouthful of bloody teeth)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29236707) _
> 
> _[every night before i sleep (i like to think you think of me)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28766853) _
> 
> _[the dreams in which i'm dying (are the best i've ever had)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28809843) _


End file.
